


Satisfied

by Forward



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Magisterium, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forward/pseuds/Forward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one time Callum's leg hurt and Aaron did something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven’t written fanfiction in quite a while (2 years?) and I recently read this book and by recently I mean I bought it on a whim yesterday and I read it within three hours because I seriously could not put it down. I’m in love with Callum and Aaron and don’t even get me started on Tamara because sweet Lord. 
> 
> But yeah I thought I would try and start writing again because, hey, why not, I used to be pretty good at it. So let me know what you think!

His leg hurt. It hurt everyday, when he was laying down, when he was standing, sitting, walking, leaning. At times worse than others. But it always hurt, no matter what, a chronic aching, like an itch lodged deep in the inter workings of his muscle. His knee would pop and, worse, lock up at the strangest times. He’d try to stand up, and would have to lean on anything to keep from toppling over and bite his lip to hold back the cry. It was an unconscious motion to rub at his knee, knead his calf muscle, or ground the palm of his hand in to his thigh. Anything to try and scratch the unsatisfied itch that Call had no doubt would be with him his entire life. They didn’t call it chronic pain for nothing.

Some days were worse than others. And today was a bad day. When he woke up this morning, his leg was already locked, a burning cramp forming in his thigh. He groaned, low and raspy, and began to furiously massage the twisted muscle. But to no avail. Another method Call tried was to, painfully, walk it out. If anything, that made it worse. He tried his physical therapist’s techniques, the yoga stretches and deep breathing, but ended up just sitting on the floor and unable to get up by himself.

He had to roll to his bed and pull himself up. No way in hell was he going to call Aaron in here. Or worse, Tamara.

He’d tried to wait it out. It was still there. Tried to do some more yoga, this time on his bed. The cramp curled hotly, making Call fist his hands angrily. Damn this leg.

And so he found himself seated in the main room, his bum leg stretched out on the small coffee table in front of the couch and both hands working at the insistent cramp. Thank God it was a Saturday.

“What a great way to start the day,” Call grumbled, fingers digging a little too harshly.

“What is?” A voice asked from across the room and Call looked up to see a slightly still asleep Aaron standing in his doorway. His blonde hair was disheveled in a way that you could tell he had tried to tame it but had given up. He wore grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt with a frayed bottom.

“Nothing,” Call said, letting his leg drop from the coffee table with a thump, ignoring the jolt of pain that rocked his knee.

“Your leg?” Aaron asked, rounding around the back of the couch, combing his fingers through his ruffled bangs. He sat down beside Callum, eyes trained on said leg.

“It’s nothing, really,” Call grumbled, shifting uncomfortably under Aaron’s stare. It was too intense, with his puppy dog eyes and eyebrows pulled down in concern.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Aaron shot back, shifting closer, one hand on the cushion next to Call’s left hip, pressing deeply into the fabric.

He was growing. Aaron had changed in the past few years, his jawline squaring and shoulders widening. His knuckles were much larger and fingers calloused with his ‘special’ lessons. Being a Makar must be hard work with hard workouts. Callum noticed how there was beginning to be a roll of muscle across Aaron’s shoulders and his neck widening to accommodate. He was taller, too. Taller than Callum and Tamara. If he had looked like the stereotypical jock when they were twelve, he sure was putting it to shame now.

He was too close to Callum. Uncomfortable, he scooted as far as the armrest that was digging into this side allowed him to. Aaron simply took that as an open invitation to lean his body over Call’s and squint down at his clothed leg.

“How does it hurt?” Aaron asked, looking up at Call. His eyes were too green.

Nobody had asked Call that before. Where it hurt, why it hurt, when it was hurting, but not how.

“It hurts like - like there’s someone grabbing my muscle, and like, I don’t know - twisting it. Like they doused it in kerosene, set that sucker on fire, and are trying to flip it over to let it burn through and through on the other side. And it’s constantly burning because it’s not budging - y’know?” That was a dumb question because, no, Aaron didn’t know but Call couldn’t stop himself now. Not with those wide green eyes staring at him, eyebrows upturned in a concerned manner, and too pink lips slanted.

“And sometimes in the morning, it does this thing - like if I bend it, it’ll completely snap. It locks up, and it hurts so bad, God it hurts, but I have to bend it until it pops and then it’s alright. Sorry this is disgusting.” He’d said too much. Aaron had jerked slightly at the word at ‘pops’ but Call knew he should’ve stopped at ‘hurts’. In his shame, he smothered his flushed face with his hands.

He was expecting Aaron to leave, to feel the cushion dip as he pushed himself up and to hear a door click close somewhere because that’s what Call wish he could do to himself. Slam the door. Kick it close. Beat the lock in until the door was fused with the wall and could never be opened again. He wasn’t expecting to feel a too-warm hand on his stiff leg right over his knee.

“One of my foster parents was a masseuse. She did it for war veterans and she showed me some things. Just tell me where it’s at and I could, I don’t know, try and help.” Aaron’s voice sounded strange. Or maybe it was completely normal and it was just Callum who was the weird ass around here.

His face was still red but he removed his hands from his face, swallowing. “Uh, it’s my thigh, not too high though.” Oh God why had he said that. And why did his voice go so high when Aaron’s hand slid upwards, placed right over the cramp.

He was almost completely hanging over Call now, his shoulder brushing Call’s arm.

Aaron laughed, if a little weirdly, before he began to move his hands.

And sweet God above.

Call didn’t know what he was doing, or how he was doing it, or how all his therapist or doctors had never done this (maybe because they didn’t have their own personal Aaron Stewart), but he was doing it and the pain that had haunted him his entire life began to subside. Like how his pain medicines would work him, slowly at a time until his entire leg was numb and there was a strange warm ball in his stomach that made his fingers tingle.

Aaron was his pain medicine. Or his hands were anyway.

They were working at his thigh, kneading and pulling and pressing and rolling and sliding and literally sucking the burn from his leg like a vacuum. Call let out a groan, more out of relief than anything else, and let his loll back against the back of the couch.

He heard Aaron laugh again, his shoulder bumping against Call.

And then the hands stilled and Call lifted his head, eyes hooded in confusion and relief, eyebrows pulled up in a question that died quickly on his lips when he looked at Aaron.

Aaron was staring at him, hands still on his leg, his dark eyelashes casting his green eyes in a soft shadow. His tan face was flushed, the red bloom spreading down his neck and disappearing under his white shirt. His eyes were trained on Call’s, a softness in them that made Call want to either back flip off the couch or onto Aaron. He was debating on his first option when suddenly, Aaron leaned in.

And promptly missed Call’s lips with his own. They landed off course, maybe because he was leaning at an odd angle, right under his right nostril, bottom lip pressing firmly against the corner of his mouth. Aaron jerked back, face sheepish and head ducked, his blush darker. It made his green eyes stand out more.

“Sorry, I —”

“Sorry—”

They both started at the same time, voices dying and choking off. What else could Call say? Sorry you kissed me and you missed? Sorry you kissed me and you missed but I’d really rather you hadn’t because your eyes are so green and your hair so blonde and you're so warm and nice and your hands feel like they are made from the strongest pain medication available. Call wanted to say all that and more but for some reason there was something lodged in his throat and all he could manage was to grab Aaron by his ruffled white shirt with the frayed and worried bottom and pull him to his lips.

And he didn’t miss this time.


End file.
